Fallout : Mutatis Mutandis
by N2
Summary: Follow-up to 'Politics of Mutancy.' After an attempted assassination, a US Senator promotes anti-mutant sentiment, quite possibly angering the wrong people...
1. decisions made

**Disclaimer:** All characters are property of Marvel, and are used without permission for fun and not profit. Random fact: the original _Blade_ had an Afro. 

**Author's Note:** This naturally falls in the _Mutatis Mutandis_ timeline, archived at www.originofspecies.cjb.net. This particular story follows events in _the Politics of Mutancy_. *s indicate telepathic speech, in case you were wondering. 

**Fallout**   
By N 

Magneto was waiting for them. 

The Acolytes emerged from their transport spheres to find their leader looking at them with stern dissatisfaction. "You've failed," he said. 

Pietro blinked. "No, father," he said. "We did exactly what you said. I mean, the X-Men showed up but they were too late." He dabbed tentatively at one of the scrapes on his face, checking for blood. There was none, just dirt. He could not wait to have a bath. 

"Wrong," Magneto thundered. Pietro flinched. "Hull is very much alive, no doubt thanks to Xavier's meddling." 

"How dey know we gonna be dere anyway?" Gambit asked. There was implied criticism hidden in the words. Magneto heard it and scowled. 

"That is a very good question indeed," he said. "How _did_ Xavier know?" His eyes swept over each Acolyte in turn. 

"Maybe it was just deduction and luck?" Pyro offered helpfully. He winced when Magneto glared at him. 

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I intend to find out." With that Magneto turned, leaving the Acolytes to clean themselves up. 

"Paranoid," Pyro muttered as soon as it was safe to do so. Pietro shrugged. 

"Yeah, but you gotta wonder." 

"Well, wasn't me, mate. Got no reason to go squealin' to Baldy. I'm as stymied as your old man." 

The other Acolytes nodded in agreement, although two pairs of eyes told a different story. 

* * * 

One of the things about being a telepath, Jonothon Starsmore was discovering, was that you almost always knew when somebody was hiding something. 

_If I were a good little soldier,_ he mused, _I'd go straight to Bucket-Head with my suspicions. 'Course, I never was the military type…_

He knocked twice on the door before opening it and stepping into Clarice's room. She was sitting on her bed, dressed in a cotton sundress, and she did not smile when he shut the door behind him. 

"Jono," she said. "How are you feeling?" 

*Better, thanks. No idea wot that gel did t'me, but I'm back to normal now. As it were, anyway.* 

"Glad to hear it." She patted the bed and he sat down beside her. "You're not wearing your jacket," she observed. Jonothon _always_ wore his leather jacket, regardless of weather or setting. Without it he looked about ten times frailer. 

Jonothon shrugged. *It's got crud on it.* 

"Ah." They sat in silence for a moment, then Clarice met Jonothon's gaze. "You're not here to chat, are you?" she asked. 

*No.* 

"It's about what happened at the Senator's, isn't it?" 

*Yes.* 

"You think I did something." 

Jonothon did not reply, just watched her steadily. After a few minutes of ignoring him, Clarice uttered a long, trembling sigh. 

"I dreamt of him. Xavier, I mean. He wanted to help me, but by the time he found out who I was Erik had already taken me away. When I found out what we were supposed to do to Hull, I reached out for him again. And he answered, and sent his X-men to save the Senator." 

*You admit it.* 

"Yes. You won't tell anyone." 

Jonothon nodded; she was right. 

Clarice pushed a strand of hair behind her elfish ear. "There's something else. He told me that if I wanted to, I could go with him." 

They sat in silence. Jonothon stood after an untold length of time and crossed the room to Clarice's dresser where there was a small basket of assorted nail polishes. Carefully avoiding looking in the bureau's mirror, he selected a bottle and returned to the bed. Chemical-smell pervaded the room. Clarice hooked her arms around her knees, drawing her legs close to her chest. 

*Don't tell me you're actually considering it?* Jonothon said finally, looking up briefly before applying a black lacquer to his nails. 

Clarice chewed at her lower lip, brow creasing. "Well… maybe," she whispered defensively. "I mean, how can we be sure we're on the right side?" 

She sensed the telepathic equivalent of a derisive snort. *This is war. There is no 'right side.'* 

"Okay," she conceded her hands unlocking and releasing her legs. "The side that's LESS wrong, then." 

Jonothon capped his nail polish, studied his hands, then regarded Clarice with somber brown eyes. 

"Or.. or…" Clarice found her hands were compulsively smoothing the bedspread. "How about a side that doesn't think this IS a war at all?" She paused, her throat tight. "We're _hurting_ people, Jono." 

*They'd hurt us.* 

"That's not the point." 

Faintly, Clarice could hear the laugh-track from the television in the living room. 

*You owe him your life, Clarice.* 

Clarice studied her hands, mulling Jonothon's last statement over in her mind. She remembered fear, blood, and a solemn oath to herself. 

"No, she said at length. "He didn't save me. I did that myself." She was startled by the words - they seemed to belong to someone much stronger than herself. But as soon as they were uttered she knew that they were true. 

Jonothon blinked like a surprised reptile. *You're serious, then,* he said. Clarice nodded slowly. 

"I think I am." 

*Won't stop you,* Jonothon said, then uttered a short telepathic sigh. The effect was akin to having a brief autumn wind rustle through your skull. *I'll miss you,* he admitted. 

That did it. Clarice started to cry. 

"Oh, Jono," she sobbed as she threw herself at him. "I _can't_ leave you here by yourself!" 

*Clarice, yer not me mum,* Jonothon protested. He did not, Clarice noted, claim he would be 'fine' without her. 

"It's not that I don't care about Erik," Clarice explained desperately into the inhuman warmth of Jonothon's chest. "Or about Pietro, or St. John, or Piotr, or Remy, or you… It's just…" She sniffled miserably. "I care about you ALL. But I know that what we're doing is wrong." She clenched her eyes shut and lowered her voice so it barely exceeded a whisper. "I promised myself that I'd never, EVER, use my mutant powers on a living creature again," she said. "If I stay here I'll have to eventually, and…" Her throat constricted and her sinuses filled with hot liquid, the words she'd planed to say choked to death by tears. 

*It'd kill you,* Jonothon finished for her. 

"Yes." 

Jonothon put his hands on Clarice's shoulders and pushed her away gently so he could study her face. Clarice sniffled again, resisting the urge to bury her head in her hands as she was scrutinized. 

Another mental sigh. *Yer gorra go,* Jonothon said at last. The words were blurred together and heavily accented - a sure sign he was upset. Clarice nodded, then put a hand over one of Jonothon's. 

"Come with me." 

*Can't.* 

"Won't." 

*Wotever.* 

"Jono, maybe… Maybe Xavier can _help_ you." She didn't want to leave him. The scar on his wrist reminded her why. 

***No-one** can help me,* Jonothon stated flatly. *An' Xavier's a fool.* 

"No." She sighed. "I'm so tired, Jonothon." 

*Yeah, luv. I know just 'ow you feel.* 

* * * 

When he was little, Scott Summers always dreamed of having a proper home. He would lie awake at nights sometimes in his orphanage bed, terrified at the prospect of never having a place that was really _home_, scared of always having to wander aimlessly from shelter to shelter with no loving refuge. 

Xavier's was the first place he'd felt truly welcomed and accepted, the only place in his entire life he'd ever really thought of as 'home.' With the Institute gone, Scott was currently having a horrible case of childhood-flashback. 

They were currently staying in another hotel, one less sleazy than the previous had been. Scott knew that Storm and the professor were desperately trying to think of a better solution, but the fact remained that Xavier was a suspected mutant and so the government was closely monitoring his family fortune. Any attempt to rebuild the Institute or go into hiding at any of Xavier's other properties was likely to attract unwanted attention. 

Scott resisted the urge to curl up into a little ball under the bed. Everything seemed so hopeless. 

There was a knock at the door. Kurt, who was seated on the other side of the room watching T.V., looked up but Scott motioned for him to stay and opted to answer the door himself. He opened it cautiously and was torn between amusement and anger to find it was only Avalanche. 

"Alvers," he said by way of greeting. 

"Summers. You got an ice bucket?" 

Scott blinked. "What?" 

"You know, like a bucket for ice? Our room doesn't have one." 

Scott nodded and fetched the desired object. "What do you need an ice bucket for?" he wondered aloud as he handed it over. 

"Ice. Duh." 

Scott snorted. Lance actually grinned, albeit lopsidedly. "For _drinks_, Summers. They got a pop machine down the next hall." 

"Hey. I'll come with you. I could use a drink." Scott was a mildly surprised to find himself out in the hall with his unofficial rival, closing the hotel room door behind him. Lance looked surprised as well, but he didn't argue. 

They walked down the hall, Lance bouncing the ice bucket on his hip. The only other sound was the muted whir of the air vents, working hard to keep the hallways odorless and just a fraction below tolerable temperature. 

"You ever notice," Lance said suddenly. They both winced at how loud his voice seemed in the silence, but Lance pressed on relentlessly, "That they always seem to turn the A/C on when you need it least and in the dead of summer they always seem to have the heat on?" 

"Yeah, I have." 

"I fuckin' hate that." 

"I'm sure they do it _just_ to annoy you, Alvers." 

Lance nodded, ignoring the sarcasm. "Probably." 

They reached the ice machine, located at the far end of the adjacent hallway. It rattled to itself blissfully and made a noise like mechanical farts when it dispensed the frozen little cubes of water. The clattering of ice cubes into the bucket made both boys wince again. 

They proceeded to the pop machine - a glorious tower of red and white plastic. 

"That shit that went down at that Senator's?" Lance said without warning or preamble. "That was not good." 

"No, no it wasn't." 

"Baldy got a plan yet?" 

Scott felt his jaw tighten. If he wasn't careful, he thought, he was going to start grinding his teeth. Think of the orthodontic bills. "Not really, no." 

"Huh." Lance jabbed the soda buttons. "I fuckin' hate Magneto," he said conversationally. 

"Really?" 

"Yeah. He screwed us all big time. I mean, I like the idea of mutants kickin' ass all over the place, but man, there's friggin' giant ROBOTS out there trying to kill us. I mean, what the hell?" He sighed and picked his sodas out of the machine. "Not like I wanted to be a doctor or something but I would have liked to have finished high school, you know?" 

Scott nodded. He half expected to have Lance claim he wanted to be the first Alvers to graduate, and then decided that was an uncharitable thought. 

"You ever wonder how our lives managed to turn into a science fiction movie?" 

Scott grinned. "Yes. I'm just glad Keanu Reeves hasn't shown up yet." 

Lance snorted. 

"How's Rogue?" Lance asked after Scott had grabbed himself a cola. 

Scott paused. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Why?" 

Lance shrugged. "Wanda's nuts. I mean, don't get me wrong, she's cool and all, but she's still nuts. Havin' that shit in her head can't be good for Rogue, you know?" 

"No. But she can handle it." 

Lance nodded and they headed back to their rooms. "Hey, Summers. What do we do now?" 

"I don't know. Wait. Try not to think too hard. You just keep thinking up rock puns, Alvers." 

"Okay. You keep figuring out what Gap khakis go best with which pullover." 

Scott smiled a little. "Goodnight." 

"Yeah." 

* * * 


	2. farewells and greetings

**Disclaimer:** Not our characters, used for fun and not profit. Random Fact: The voice actor for Scott was on an episode of First Wave; he played a football jock guy, much like Duncan. Weird yes? **Author Notes:** Part of the whole _Mutatis Mutandis_ timeline, if you were smart you would have already read all the other parts, if you haven't yet, do it now.   
NOW!   
www.originofspecies.cjb.net 

**Fallout - Part 2**   
By starched_undergarments (aka 'kitten') 

There were no goodbyes. 

Clarice Ferguson stood on the cold cement stairs, looking up at the towering apartment building, her eyes wet. Her bag and heart were heavy. 

She hated leaving them, hated that she couldn't have hugged them all one last time, hated that she couldn't even say farewell. But she couldn't - if she had then Magneto would find out that she was leaving, and that was a confrontation that she didn't want to face. 

He was still dear to her. Erik had helped her, but she no longer believed it was he that had _saved_ her, had rescued her like some sort of prince on a white horse. She had saved herself from the torments of her father by opening her eyes, metaphorically and literally. 

And now those crystal eyes closed and tears slipped down her cheeks as she began to walk towards her future. 

*** 

The hallway was bright in comparison to the darkness she had been sitting in for over an hour, making her squint as she walked down towards the Coke machine at the end of the hall. She barely noticed when a hand gently touched her shoulder; she jumped and whirled around, half expecting it to be Mystique or one of Magneto's little soldiers. 

"Whoa whoa! Hold up, I aint gonna hurt you, yo." 

Rogue held back a smile when she realized that is was only Toad. She relaxed and put a hand to her head. 

"Sorry, Ah just…." 

"S'okay, just, you nearly clocked me one." He grinned, his teeth yellowed and in dire need of an orthodontist. He walked with her to the Coke machine and punched in a few bucks. "So what are you doing out here, yo?" 

"Ah needed a drink. Me and Wanda have been discussing music for about three hours now," she said as he opened his can and leaned against the machine. Todd nodded and took a sip. 

"You two becoming friends?" 

"Ah guess so," she said, pushing the button for a Sprite. 

"That's cool, yo." He paused, obviously uncomfortable about what he was going to ask next, "Urmmm, does she like, ever mention me?" 

She sipped her Sprite and looked at him. "Maybe…" she said, wording it carefully. "Are you sure you wanna know though? It's pretty bad." 

He shrugged and leaned further against the machine. "It's okay, I'm tough." 

Rogue winced and then proceeded to tell Todd just what Wanda thought of him. Truthfully. With each sentence she could see the poor boys heart and pride drop another notch. When she finished, she almost felt bad for him. 

They stood in silence, awkward silence, until he cleared his throat and stood up tall. 

"Well, like my momma always used to say, if at first you don't succeed, try and try again." He grinned stupidly up at Rogue's shocked face. "Sides yo, I wouldn't love her if she didn't put up some sort of a fight." 

And with that he strode back to his room, head held high, whistling. 

*** 

It was cold outside. 

Scott Summers shivered and rubbed his hands over his arms again. He was standing on the small patio that was connected to his room; through the glass he could see Kurt snoozing, curled up on the bed. 

He returned his gaze to the night's sky, wondering what the stars really looked like. He couldn't quite remember. Every sky, sunset, sunrise, flower he had ever seen was lost to him now, the bright vivacious colors of life were now muted, foggy. 

They were all red now. 

Red. 

It almost seemed funny in a sick sort of way that red was the only color he could see now. He had once loved the color, loved the rich passionate feel to it, how amongst all the other colors red always seemed to be the most vivid. 

His hand wandered absently to his face, remembering that when his mutant powers had first manifested all he had seen was a flash of red, intense and powerful. 

And then nothing. 

Nothing until the Professor had come along, his voice so gentle and calm, soothing. He had cried, naturally, trying to explain to this man how scared he was, how grateful he was to have someone talking to him, being in the same room as him. 

"_My eyes, I can't open them. _" He had wept, his hands shaking against his face. ""_I can't see, every time I open them….oh god…there's blood." _

Scott felt a small tremor go through his body, the powerful scent of crimson memories drifting up to meet him. 

"_My eyes….._" 

"Hey there, handsome," a voice said from behind him. He turned and saw Jean, closing the patio door behind her, her hair whirling about her face dramatically. 

"What are you looking at?" 

He chuckled and she came over to him. "Funny you should ask that…" he mused and she looked up at him, confused. 

"Why?" 

"No reason. How are you doing?" 

She sighed and leaned against him. "Honestly? I don't know, I feel…." 

"Useless?" He offered and she nodded. He wrapped an arm around her and hugged her. 

"Me too." 

"I hate waiting," she pouted and he laughed. 

"Used to getting what you want, when you want it huh?" 

She giggled and looked up at him. "Always," she stated, and then kissed him. 

He pulled back after a few moments, his face flushed. "Jean? What…I mean…do you…I…" He stammered and she put a finger to his lips. 

"Shhhhh…" She tapped his forehead gently. "You don't have to say a word - your thoughts are deafening." 

He blushed and she hugged him tightly, as the stars above twinkled endlessly. 

*** 

The road was lonely and dark. Clarice sighed and pulled the hood of her coat up further against the chill. She had phoned the number on the small card that Xavier had given her at Senator Hull's place and had talked to the Professor, who had offered to come out and get her but she had refused. She feared that if Xavier got anywhere near Magneto's base he would instantly know and the result would be another fight. Besides, she needed time to think and collect her thoughts and feelings. 

So she had gotten their location and had set out on the road. It was a full 24 hours after she'd left the Acolytes, and now she found herself on a deserted highway. She walked steadily alongside the road, her bag weighing comfortably against her back. 

*_An' Xavier's a fool._* 

Jonothon's words echoed in her mind, and she stuffed her hands deeper into her coat pockets and clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Jonothon was her best friend, her first real friend really, and she loved him to death, but sometimes he could be so damn trying. 

He was hurting - she knew that. She also knew what he thought of himself, that he was some kind of monster, a walking Frankenstein's creation, alone and unloved. 

Clarice, of course, thought this was a load of crap. 

To her, he wasn't a monster, he wasn't ugly, and she wished that one day he would see that. Yes, the lower portion of his face was gone, as was his chest, but he still had his eyes, those beautiful brown eyes that held so much emotion and personality. And his actual body was still intact; he still had hands, legs, and his manhood. In fact, St. John had made a comment on that very subject one night, proclaiming that it was better to loose one's 'mug' than one's 'equipment.' 

Clarice chuckled to herself. Out of all the Acolytes St. John was the most chipper; his good-natured teasing and brass nature made him a delight to be around. He never took anything too seriously and his motto in life was to eat, drink, screw and be merry. 

And speaking of screwing…. 

Remy Le Beau was without a doubt, a ladies man. Smooth, suave, and sexy to boot, there had been more than one occasion on which he had returned home late, or early in the morning. On one of these said instances she had been up and in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the boys when they awoke. Remy had breezed through the door, and she had raised an eyebrow at him. 

"_Busy night Remy? _" she had asked, and he grinned, leaning lazily in the doorframe. 

"_You could say that, chere…..._" 

Yet like anything else, not all of it had been fun. 

"_Piotr?_" 

It had been cold outside, even in her sweater she had felt it. He sat on one of the white patio chairs with his head hanging down and his massive shoulders slumped. 

She had knelt down in front of him and gently took on of his hands, her own small and delicate in comparison, his strong and callused from years of hard labor. 

"_What's wrong?_" 

He didn't say anything at first, but that wasn't unusual: Piotr was the epitome of the 'strong and silent' type. 

"_Is it your family?_" She had asked and he nodded. 

"_Illyana is sick._" 

Clarice knew how much Piotr's little sister meant to him. He had shown her many pictures, his eyes sparkling with love and pride. Her being sick and so far away was hurting him immensely. She had hugged him tightly, and he returned it gratefully, their forms illuminated by the cold street lamps below. 

Now, walking alone in the darkness she could feel a great welt of sadness grow in her heart. She missed them terribly already, and the temptation to go back was growing, but she had made her decision and she had to stick with it. 

"Besides," she said to the cold road, "I'll see them again. I know it." 

*** 

It had been five days since they had checked in at the hotel, and at present time it was roughly four thirty in the morning. Evan Daniels lay awake, listening to his roommate, Fred Dukes, snore. 

"I can't take much more of this," he muttered to himself and got up, quietly put on pants and left the room. He wandered down the hall and found Kurt stationed at the vending machine, his butt pushed against the glass and his tail inside the machine. 

"Urmm Kurt? Do I even want to know?" He questioned and the blue mutant grinned sheepishly. 

"It bogarted my candy," he explained, his tail hooking around a few Snicker bars, "and Kitty isn't awake to phase through it, so I thought I'd improvise!" 

Evan laughed and watched as Kurt's prehensile tail knocked out an array of chocolate bars and sugary snacks. Kurt grinned as he removed his tail, and the two sat on the floor, munching away. 

"Any idea how long we're gonna hold up here?" Evan asked, figuring that if anyone knew Kurt would - he was rooming with Scott, after all. 

"No idea, but at least zis place is better than that other hole we stayed at." 

Evan chuckled. "Yeah, that place was right out of a bad porno movie or something. Plastic Wrap on everything!" 

The sound of approaching footsteps silenced their muffled laughter; Evan peered around the vending machine and saw Logan walking towards them, with someone in tow. 

"Chill," he said to Kurt, who was getting ready to bamf out of sight. "Its just Logan." 

The two stepped out, brushing off chocolate crumbs and litter. 

"Hey Logan, what's up?" Evan asked, noticing that Logan was fully dressed and had a cup of coffee in one hand. 

"Do me a favor Porcupine, go wake the Professor. Tell him his guest has arrived." 

Evan nodded and sauntered down the hall, Kurt turned and gave a Logan an inquisitive look, "Guest?" he asked. 

Logan nodded and stepped aside for Kurt to see. "You might remember her from Senator Hull's place. Elf this is…" 

"Ze Engel…." He mused and then blushed furiously when she giggled. 

"I'm Clarice," she said softly, her eyes warm. Logan groaned as Kurt stumbled his way through a half German introduction. 

A door opened and the Professor came out into the hallway, smiling. 

"Ah Clarice, wonderful to see you, child. Come, you must be tired from your trip, we'll let you rest and then in the morning you can meet everyone else." 

It was a time for greetings. 

*** 

End Part 2 

Quick Notes: Did you catch the line from the X-men Evolution comics? If you did you get a cookie! I tried very hard in this chapter to include X-men and Brotherhood people who weren't previously used, as well as give you a little peek into how Clarice sees each Acolyte member. I also got the whole Scott/Jean romance thing started, I unlike the show am not going to sit around and take five freaking years! It might seem a bit sudden but let's face it, Jean's a girl who knows what she wants and goes for it, that and I need them together for I have plans………plans I say! Mwahahaha. 


	3. reverberation

**Disclaimer:** All characters are property of Marvel and are used without permission for entertainment and not profit. 

**Author's Note:** This naturally falls in the _Mutatis Mutandis_ timeline, archived at www.originofspecies.cjb.net. 

Fallout - Chapter Three 

Five days. 

Somehow, he just couldn't get his mind around it. It had been _five days_ since they'd woken up to find her gone. Just poof, disappeared, blinked away, with not a word of warning and did he realize it had been _five **days**_? 

St. John Allerdyce was not normally one to obsess over the well-being of others; people had been falling in and out of his life for a long time and he'd learned not to take anything too seriously. However, Clarice had been in the swank penthouse before _any_ of them, and having her gone was like waking up to find one of the living room walls had vanished in the night. One of the living room's _supporting_ walls, no less. 

It was, St. John reflected as he stood near the rear of the living room, almost funny how much that quiet little girl had come to mean to the team. He could understand why it had happened - Clarice was one of the only people any of them had ever met who was willing to accept them exactly as they were. Combine that with the fact that none of the Acolytes completely trusted one another and you had a recipe for the perfect Wailing Wall incarnate. Clarice could be counted on to listen to you no matter _how_ stupid your problem was, and she never said a word to anybody else about it. 

St. John sighed and bounced a tennis ball off the living room wall. He'd made sure it was not a support wall - just in case. 

Magneto was upset. St. John knew this because Pietro knew this, and in the absence of their Wailing Wall Pietro had needed to tell _somebody_. 

"He didn't see it coming at all," Pietro had whispered in the dark. St. John had nodded, wishing the other boy was upset enough to want to crawl into his bed. For comfort, of course. 

"He has no idea why it happened. He keeps asking me if I noticed anything strange about her behaviour before she left. I said to him, 'How would **I** notice anything? She never talks about herself." 

Bouncing the tennis ball idly in one hand, St. John mulled over the truth of that statement. Clarice always listened, rarely spoke. The only person who rivaled her for silence was Chamber, a.k.a. "the creepy guy in the bedroom." 

_An' I'll bet,_ St. John thought to himself. _That if anyone knows why she left, it'd be that one._

He tossed the tennis ball behind him, where it rolled under a table and was still. 

*** 

It was a bad night. 

There was nothing wrong with the weather; the stars were shining in a clear sky and the temperature was almost balmy. Nor was it a bad night in terms of conflict; the general atmosphere of the house was one of contentment. There'd been a brief skirmish earlier between Remy and Pietro over the possession of the TV remote control, but aside from that everyone co-existed quite pleasantly. 

Jonothon Starsmore was not a social creature - the only person he'd ever exchanged more than five words with had been Clarice. Communication was a chore. And when speaking to Clarice Jonothon had early on realized that she understood a lot of what he meant without his ever having to say it. This was a blessing, as he did not enjoy attempting to put the sordid details of his violent depression into words. 

So, whenever Clarice would ask him if he had slept well because he "looked tired," instead of explaining that he'd spent the entire night curled up on his bedroom floor obsessively picking at slowly mending flesh and having silent hysterics, he would simply reply "bad night." 

Jonothon had a lot of bad nights. 

Tonight he found himself hovering just outside his bedroom, halfway drawn by the sounds of the other Acolytes in the living room and half repelled by the same thing. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, aging an inner war with no real winners. 

_Just walk in there, sit down. Watch the telly for a while and just forget about everything. _

Right. The second you go in there everyone will stop. St. John will stop laughing and Pietro will refuse to look at you. You're a walking reminder that things don't always go as planned. 

If he could sigh conventionally, he would have. If he had the voice to scream, he would have done that also. So he did neither, and after a dark glance down the hallway he retreated back to his bedroom. 

Better just not to bother. 

* * * 

Elsewhere, at the same moment a hand raised to knock on a door, Boliver Trask smiled into a telephone receiver. 

"Oh no, Senator. That was just the prototype…" 

*** 

Gambit nearly tripped as he made his way to kitchen. He bent down and picked up the offending object: a fuzzy yellow tennis ball. Shrugging, he tossed it lightly at a support wall and went to get a snack. 

*** 

Knockknock. Knock. 

*Go. Away.* 

St. John rocked on his heels, undeterred. "No. I'm comin' in, mate." 

He creaked the door open cautiously and was met with darkness and another, more emphatic, *Go away.* 

St. John stood in the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the half-light and picking out a figure stretched out on the bed. Music played on the stereo - he picked out something about "this place is death with walls" before focusing his attention on what he had to say. 

"Chamber. I need to ask you something." 

No reply. St. John decided silence was acquiescence so he went on, "Do you know what happened to Clarice?" 

*If I did, don'tcher think I would 'ave said something to Buckethead?* 

"Not necessarily." 

*Assuming for a moment I did know,* Jonothon continued as he got up off the bed and moved closer to the door, *Why exactly would I tell **you**?* He loomed over St. John in the darkness like an angry wraith. 

Not one to let himself be intimidated, St. John met Jonothon's gaze and poked a finger directly into the other boy's chest. 

Or rather, where the other boy's chest _should_ have been. St. John noted with squeamish fascination that his finger sunk into the leather wrappings up to the first knuckle. 

"Listen, ya yobbo," he said, his voice betraying none of his feelings. "Clarice was _my_ friend too. I miss her an' I wanna know at least that she's okay. And since you're the only one around that has any idea of where she ran off to, I thought you could stop being a fuckwit for three seconds and put my mind at ease." 

Silence again. Then Jonothon cocked his head to one side and moved away. *She's fine.* 

"Where is she?" 

*Can't say.* 

St. John sighed. "Why'd she leave?" 

*To stay true to 'erself. Done playing twenty questions, are we?* 

"Yeah." St. John turned but paused before exiting. "Thanks." 

*Yeah. Now naff off.* 

* * * 

Magneto assembled them all together the following morning. They stood side by side as he paced slowly in front of them. They were all hyper-aware that they were one less in number. 

"I don't' suppose any of you have been watching the news?" Magneto asked at length. Somewhat sheepishly the Acolytes responded in the negative. Magneto paused, presumably to pray for strength. 

"Thanks to Xavier and his meddling children," he said. "The assassination of Senator Hull was a complete failure. That stinking pile of human offal is now convinced more than ever that mutant registration _must_ be put into effect." 

"Maybe it's not such a big deal?" St. John ventured. Magneto turned on him, eyes furious. Chamber winced. 

"I don't think you truly comprehend the gravity of the situation, Pyro," he said. His voice was tightly controlled - unnaturally so. "Mutant registration is a way for humans to keep tabs on who the mutants are. And if they know who you are, they can single you out. It is the same idea behind making the Jews wear the Star of David on their clothes before World War Two. Once they can target you, they make you their scapegoat. The next step after that is violence… cruelty… genocide." 

St. John tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry as sand. 

"Hull must be dealt with. He wants to know who the mutants are? Fine. We shall reveal our mutant heritage… but on OUR terms, not his." He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice had returned to normal. 

"Anti-mutant demonstrations are raging across the country. Incidents of anti-mutant violence are up…" Magneto looked directly at Chamber. "In Fort Worth, Texas, a young girl was beaten to death by a truckload of men because she 'looked different.' 

"We cannot afford to fail again. Hull is a threat, and if we dispose of him we will demonstrate that mutantkind is NOT at the mercy of humans." 

"What do we do?" Colossus asked. His face looked as though it had been carved from stone. 

"In three days Hull will be attending a rally in Chicago. The attendance is expected to be huge, but I know for a fact that security will be inadequate. They are not anticipating _us_." 

*We're one short,* Jonothon pointed out. Magneto glared at him. 

"It doesn't matter. You will assassinate Hull. I don't care what it takes… if it kills you, you will succeed." 

* * * 

Some words just echo. 

_"If it kills you."_

(Like the reverberation of a rebounding tennis ball.) 

* * * 

"So. What do you think?" 

There was a pause as Remy inhaled smoke, the tip of his cigarette flaring briefly in the dark. He and St. John were standing on the patio together, talking in low voices. They had spent all day in training, being pushed to their physical limits by their leader, who was like a man obsessed. Magneto had retired for the evening and the entire apartment was dark, but they were wary just the same. 

"I think," Remy drawled softly, "Dat Magneto maybe ain't thinkin' as clearly as he should be, non?" 

"No doubt about it, mate." St. John shook his head. "I dunno. I feel kinda weird goin' into this without Blink." 

"Yeah. It was nice t'know she was watching our backs." He shrugged quickly. "We be okay." 

"I know." St. John chewed the inside of his mouth, unable to express his unease. "Still." 

Remy took another drag on his cigarette. "You heard the man, dey won't be expectin' what he's got planned. Catch em by surprise." 

"You're sure about that?" 

Remy grinned in the dark; his strange eyes black holes in his face. "_Non._ But I know how to slip away undetected." 

St. John snorted. "Stick by your mates, eh?" he muttered. The temptation to make Remy's cigarette ember flare up was great. 

"Besides," Remy continued. "Dere gonna be a crowd, _non_? Dey gonna panic once they see the horrible muties really are out to get em. Probably trample the security tryin' to get outta dere." 

St. John giggled. "Runnin' like rabbits," he said. 

"Exactly." He smirked. "Hell, dey take one look at Chamber dey probably wet themselves." 

St. John nodded, giggling again. "I vote we put him and the Russian closest to the line of fire. Who cares if they get shot?" 

"I always worry 'bout the ricochet off Colossus." 

"Ooooh yeah." He smiled, reassured. What _had_ he been so worried about? 

* * * 

It was a good night for Boliver Trask. 

He sat, momentarily alone, in a small metallic office. He could hear the sounds of heavy industry - pistons pumping, steam hissing, massive gears turning in a mockery of the wheel of life. The sounds of progress. 

Of security. 

"I don't know where you are," he whispered aloud. "But I know you'll come." He smiled at the newspaper laying on his desk - the front page had a photograph of Senator Hull in profile, his face determined and his arms upraised in a gesture that managed to convey freedom and defiance. 

"And when you do… your kind will know real fear." 

* * * 

Parting shots: Look! I haven't killed Gambit (yet)! You should all be very proud of me. Big 'thank yous' to the people who keep coming back to read this thing. C&C appreciated. (And if you think it blew goats, tell me WHY. "U Suck" is not a valid criticism.) 


	4. new direction

**Disclaimer:** There characters in no way belong to us, we are not making any profit off of this, it's just for fun. We just wanted to tell a story…a really really, really LONG story… But a story nonetheless. 

**Author Notes:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed, we hope you enjoy what else we've got planed. Because trust me, there is a whole lot more.   
(oh and a quick note for 'me'   
One: You are correct! The line from the comic was indeed 'your thoughts are deafening.'   
Two: Pyro was included in the second chapter amongst Clarice's musings, he's mentioned right after Jonothon. Look again and I'm sure you'll find it.) 

**Fallout Part 4**   
By starched_undergarments (with minor work at the end by N) 

News traveled fast. 

Especially, Scott found, being in such cramped accommodations. He and Jean had been a couple for not even a full day and already everyone knew, which meant he was up for constant ribbing; he didn't mind it from Kurt or Bobby but when the Brotherhood boys started up he debated weather or not he should ask Jean to psionically muzzle everyone or not. 

He, being Scott, decided against it. 

He sat in his hotel room now, listening to Kurt take his late morning shower. Kurt was in fact singing, which Scott found slightly bizarre for reasons he couldn't explain. That very morning the two teams had been roused early and introduced to Clarice, the purple skinned ninja girl who had given Scott a couple of good bruises at Senator Hull's place. 

She seemed completely different; the girl at Hull's had been cold, composed and most of all dangerous, but the girl he had met just a few hours ago was shy, polite and sweet, and this made Scott wonder what the hell she had been doing with Magneto in the first place. 

He stretched and wandered over to the mini-fridge and pulled out a can of Five-Alive, sipping it as his thoughts churned over in his head. 

She was the same girl the Professor had tried to recruit months ago. The memory of his urgency and the sight of her home bubbled in his brain. 

The dirt, the grey depressing foundation, the blood. 

Clearly something awful had happened to her there, something she would probably never speak about. But that's how it went usually; the people with deep-seated problems never spoke about them out loud. 

Scott knew this from personal experience. 

*** 

As Scott Summers pondered the arrival of Xavier's new guest and his own psychological problems, Rogue sat alone on the edge of the indoor pool, her bare legs dangling in the cool waters. 

She didn't want to go swimming, she just needed to get away for a while, needed to think. 

It was official now, Jean and Scott were a couple, something she knew was going to happen but still stung her to hear. She had been walking back towards her room, having just been introduced to Clarice when Kitty had bopped up to her and cheerfully informed her about the new 'pair.' 

At first she had felt angry and hurt, but now that it had time to sink in she just felt defeated and lonely. 

It made sense though; Jean was nice and beautiful, friendly and above all else, safe. He could and would (much to her dismay) kiss, touch, and hold her. 

And that was what probably hurt most of all. 

*** 

"I can't get no, ugh ugh ugh, sat-is-faction!" 

Robert Drake paused, stifling a laugh as he watched his teacher shake his blue furry rump in mirror; Mr. McCoy was a man of literature and science, not some rock and roll star. Watching him behave like one was borderline surreal. Finally his giggles gave way and he burst out laughing, causing Hank to turn and grin sheepishly. 

"Bobby, my dear boy, care to join me in a verse?" he asked and gestured for the young X-man to enter his room. Bobby did so and shut the door behind him. 

"No thanks teach, I'll leave the Stone's singing to you." 

The two grinned at each other and Hank motioned for him to have a seat, "Well if you're not here to join me in a musical debut, then what's on your mind?" 

Bobby shrugged, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. "No reason really… Just bored. Lunch isn't for a while and all the others are off showering and stuff…." 

"Bobby?" Hank sat down next to him, "If there is something the matter you can talk to me about it. Don't think of me as just one of your teachers, think of me as a friend. One of your backwards-hat-wearing, hula-hoop-swinging chums." 

Bobby smiled despite his uneasiness and picked at his sweater fibers. 

"It's just that… Well, when I was getting dressed this morning I turned on the T.V. and it mentioned some sort of beating down in Texas where these guys beat up a mutant because she looked weird." 

"Oh dear," Hank mused, his eyes instantly going soft. 

"And it just got me thinking…." 

"About us? Or about the others? Ray and everyone?" 

"Yeah, I mean I miss them…I do. And I'm worried that…you know, Rahnie doesn't always have great control over her looks…" 

Hank put a comforting arm around Bobby who gratefully sank into it. "And I'm worried about us, what we're going to do. I mean we can't hide in hotels all our lives, and then there's my parents!" 

"Robert I'm shocked that you didn't say something sooner, this is quite a load to be carrying. Why didn't you talk to one of the other kids? I'm sure they understand and have all the same fears…" 

"I can't." Bobby sighed, and shrugged, "I don't want to seem…. You know…" He shrugged uncomfortably. "Weak." 

Hank looked at him, "Weak?" 

"Like a… a baby. Like some kid who can't keep himself together. I mean Scott's so good at always looking and acting so cool, so in control, and I try but…" 

Hank hugged him briefly, his massive arms encircling the young man. "My dear boy, although Mr. Summers may not always show it, he too has trouble keeping it _together_, everyone does. You are not a child just because you worry about your friends and family. In fact that makes you a very compassionate and considerate young man." 

"You think so?" He asked, looking up hopefully. 

"I know so," he said and punched him lightly on the shoulder. "You hang in there champ." 

Bobby grinned and got up, his fears at ease. "Thanks, teach." 

"Anytime Bobby. What are friends for?" Hank said and watched as the boy left. Then he got up; his good-natured smile slowly falling, and punched in the number for the Professor's phone. 

"Professor, we might have a problem, I think we should definitely tune into the news tonight…." 

*** 

The room was silent save the soft murmurs coming from the television; it's blue light flickering across and array of solemn faces. 

It was the sixth day of residing at the Quiet Palms hotel and at present time the entire team of mutants were crowded into Professor Xavier's room, watching the six o clock news. Normally any one of the kids would have changed the channel by now but when the news of one's personal fate was being broadcasted all across the country one understandably tuned in. 

The news of course was regarding mutants, and mainly focused on Senator Hull, whom the X-men had saved only a week ago. 

He did not seem particularly grateful for their help. 

"And I repeat, that the next mutant freak that dares come into my home will be greeted by six silver friends that I'll be keeping beside me at all times!" 

The crowd assembled before Hull cheered with enthusiasm, their cries of encouragement made the pit of Scott's stomach drop out. 

Logan inhaled on his cigar, the embers blinking defiantly in the dark. "Ungrateful dope," he muttered and exhaled the smoke bitterly. 

The T.V. rattled on about the attack then progressed to related news, namely the recent harsh mutant backlash. There were hate crimes, accusations, graffiti and beatings, all related to mutants. The population was panicking and that left everyone, Scott especially, feeling more nervous than ever. 

"Professor what does all of this mean?" Kitty asked and Scott flinched at the naiveté in her voice. 

"It would seem that Senator Hull has regrettably chosen to view mutants, _all_ mutants, as a threat." 

Jean cradled herself and looked at the screen, the crowds of people yelling silently, their faces contorted into masks of anger and hatred. 

"And he has chosen to share his encounter with the public, resulting in this backlash against mutants." 

"Against us," Storm murmured and got up, turning her eyes away from the screen. 

"This means, Kitty," the Professor continued, "that the public fears us even more now, I had hoped that the Senator would have seen from our scuffle with the Acolytes that there are mutants out there willing to help people, to protect them. But he has decided that even we are a threat." 

Jean grimaced as the news showed a particular nasty 'homosapien survival skirmish', the angry eyes of the people on screen made her head ache. 

"I can't believe this," she said out loud, her eyes still on the screen. 

"I know it looks bad," Storm began but Jean interrupted her, her voice strangely angered. 

"Not their reaction, that's only normal. What I can't believe is how easily all of this could have been avoided." 

Scott looked at her puzzled and she finally tore her gaze away from the millions of angry stares. "You should have mind wiped him," she said and stared angrily and the Professor. 

"Jean..?" Scott started. 

"You should have wiped his mind! Then none of this would be happening!" 

"Jean, please," the Professor held up a hand. "I decided that the Senator must make up his own mind about us, had he chosen rightly he might have been able to start an understanding of mutants." 

"But he didn't!" Jean yelled at him, her hair flying wildly about her face. "And now things are even worse and we have to hide while others are being beaten and killed, all because one man made the wrong decision!" 

"Jean it is not my place to alter or control people's minds." 

"Then you're a fool," she spat at him and strode from the room, slamming the door behind her. 

"What the fuck got into her?!!" Lance blurted, but was answered only by silent confusion. 

*** 

After the distressing news and a few brief comforting words from the Professor the kids returned to their rooms, waiting restlessly until dinner arrived. 

Clarice, new to the group, waited quietly in the hall. She was currently sharing a room with Storm but could tell that the woman needed a few moments alone, she was understandably stressed. 

So she wandered the halls, her feet quietly padding across the soft woven carpets. A door opened to her left and she watched as Evan, Kurt and Lance emerged, all dressed in boxers and with towels in hand. 

"Going to a nudist colony?" She asked and all the boys jumped. 

"Jeeesus!" Lance yelled, clutching his chest. "You just gave me a fuckin' heart attack!" 

"Sorry," she said quietly and moved to leave. Evan laughed and stopped her. 

"It's okay, you're just so quiet we didn't see you there." 

"Oh." She glanced at their boxers and raised an eyebrow. Lance shrugged and smiled. 

"We don't have any bathing suits." 

"You're going swimming?" 

Evan nodded and adjusted the towel around his neck, "Yeah, we figured we would work up an appetite as well as get rid of some of this nervous energy after that bummer of a news report." 

"You wanna come?" Lance asked and she blushed. 

"No, I don't…" 

"Aww c'mon! You can watch Kurt's fur clog up the pool filters!" He draped an arm around her thin shoulders, pulling her along with them, as Kurt trailed behind, insisting that he did NOT shed. 

*** 

"Jean?" 

She didn't respond at first, so he tried again and he heard her sigh. It was a dry, old sound. 

"Yes?" Her voice sounded tired, and somehow strained. 

"Are you okay?" He asked. 

Scott moved to her side. Jean was staring out at the city below her, her reflection in the window watching the lines of cars and people with a look bordering on loathing. 

"Yes, Scott I'm fine," she said, her voice completely deadpan. 

He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to give her comfort. "Why…why did you say those things? To the Professor?" He asked her at last. 

Her shoulders tightened and for a moment he could almost feel some sort of spark, an angry flare coming off of her. 

Then it was gone. 

"I don't know," she said, turning towards him and embracing him. 

"I…just don't feel like myself tonight." 

*** 

Scott was starting to feel like the only responsible person in the hotel; he was currently standing in front of his teachers, his stomach clenched up in frustration. After checking on Jean he had decided that enough was enough and that a course of action had to be decided upon, for the good of everyone involved. 

"Professor," Scott said. "We can **not** keep going like this. At this rate there isn't going to be anywhere left for us to hide!" 

The Professor sighed and cast a sideling glance at Storm. Her lips thinned visibly but she remained silent. 

"Scott, I did think of one place where we might be offered safe haven." 

"Then why aren't we there already?" Scott started to pace. "We can't accomplish anything if we're running all the time…" 

"Scott." Something in Xavier's voice brought Scott to a halt, his mouth half open in silent question. "The reason I have hesitated is because we are not guaranteed a very warm welcome. Secondly, if we are offered sanctuary, I have every reason to be suspicious of the motives behind the offer." 

Xavier brought a hand to his forehead. "But I'm afraid I am left with precious few options." 

* * * 

Boston. 

A long-distance call was put through to an expensively furnished office, where a manicured hand lifted the heavy receiver of an antique phone. 

"Charles. Why how marvelous to hear from you. Your 'Institute' was all over the media. Quite a mess." 

A barely suppressed chuckle. "'Desperate.' Oh, Charles, you wound me." 

Nails that had been tapping staccato on the desk halted and hovered expectantly. "How many? … My, my, you have been busy." 

Slim hands pulled open a drawer and removed a leather-bound notebook. A fountain pen joted down disjointed information in elegant handwriting. 

"Do you have transport? Ah, of course. Very well then. Snow Valley. I trust you can find it, and I'll be sure to deactivate security. I'll see you tomorrow morning." 

Full, ruby lips split suddenly in a predator's grin. "I'm doing this for _them_ of course. You know I have a soft spot for children. Goodbye, Charles." 

In the silence of her private office, Emma Frost allowed herself a decidedly evil chuckle. 

*** 

End Fallout 


End file.
